In the evening, we run into Redbeard and friends. They are leaving Namche tomorrow, to go up to Phortse Thanga, so they'll be a day ahead of us from now on.
Later, we sit at The Pumpernickel having coffee and doughnuts. A European group opposite digs into their Weiner Schnitzels. “Hey aqualung”, growls Ian Anderson from the pub next door. Crowds gather around pool tables. It strikes me that in our two days in Namche, we have seen little of real Sherpa life. The sights, the sounds and the tastes are all foreign, geared to help 20,000 tourists feel at home. I’d like to come here in the monsoons, I think, when there are no trekkers, when the Sherpas finally come out and claim their town for their own.